Money Hawks

Another day's coin: a face looking across 
The circle's nickel dull ridge 

Our quarter horses are held up 
On the transient gray blue maelstrom 
Vim, spice, no one is nice 

Without another day's dollar: paper promises 
Committed across guns, germs, and feels 
Transmissions directed to manually assemble 

A sustaining naying voice 
Exit alternatives screech at the wider rectangle 
Your base are belong 
To us and us and us

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